No Sex Please

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Naked and Funny

Who dares wins

"Nothing er..." Connie hesitated over the use of the word, but it had to be said, "...sexual," the word came out in sort of a hushed whisper.


"What was that? What did she say?" The Dowager Lady Trumpeter bellowed across the table fiddling with her hearing aid which seemed to disgorge nothing more useful than an extremely loud whistling noise.


"I said do you really want something sexual," bellowed Connie in return.


"Certainly not!" Lady Trumpeter replied clearly affronted, "I'm English! We don't go in for that sort of thing!"


"Let us be quite clear," said Marcia, "this is not about sex. There is in our organisation no sex and no profanity."


"Heaven forfend!" the posh Scots tones of Morag MacTavish interrupted proceedings.


Marcia hesitated. She was not quite sure if the expression 'Heaven forfend!' constituted profanity or not. Indeed she wasn't quite sure what 'forfend' meant. She felt disinclined to ask, not wishing to display her ignorance.


"No," she pronounced, "this is not about sex or profanity. It is good, honest old fashioned nudity. And there is nothing wrong with that is there?"


She glowered round the table putting on her 'Defy Marcia if you dare' face. Nobody did. Nobody dared defy Marcia when she made her pronouncements.


Except perhaps the Dowager Lady Trumpeter, but as she had heard nothing but an extremely loud and penetrating whistle she didn't object either.


Marcia sat back in her seat triumphant. She had bent the committee to her will as ever. Marcia Gorringe had been chairwoman of the Women's Guild for as long as anyone could remember and she ruled it with a rod of iron.


Her overriding desire in life was to outdo the The Ladies Institute, and nothing would get in the way of that.


The ladies of The Institute however had other ideas. They had boasted they were going to raise an enormous sum of money for the worthy charities which were benefiting from this year's festival - the donkey sanctuary and the home for orphaned cats - by posing in what Lady Trumpeter still referred to as 'the all together' for a calendar.


Calendars, thought Marcia, were old hat, calendars were very much 1990's. No, the Women's Guild were going to do much better than that...


"Could you just explain again please," Connie looked rather puzzled. Constance Withybanks was a pretty, blonde, and rather junior member of the committee, and she felt a bit bold questioning Marcia; but she felt she must have misunderstood, "It's just that it sounded, well, a bit sexual to me."


Marcia put on her exasperated face. She was a striking lady, very much in her prime, and she used her looks and her forceful personality to good effect.


"The village fête is to organise an art exhibition - you understood that much didn't you?"


Connie nodded.


"The women at The Ladies Institute," Marcia almost spat the words out, "intend to enter their so called Calendar Au Naturel and win the prize. I intend to enter a Tableau Vivant!"


"Yes, you got that far?" said Connie, "then you said it would rival the Institute's nudie calendar, and I said I hoped it was nothing..." She hesitated again, mouthing the word carefully, "...sexual."


"Well," Marcia thought she had better explain in words of one syllable, "it's like when you pose as if you were a statue, but you're not, you're real living people."


"Doesn't sound much like art to me," Morag MacTavish, young, dark, beautiful, and unfortunately Scottish, was always the sceptic, " people? What's art about that?"


"It's called performance art. There's a chap just won the Turner prize for going round annoying people."


"We're going to annoy people?"


"Of course not! We're giving them living art!" Some people were so obtuse!


"What are we doing for this living art then?" Connie had thought she had better intervene before Marcia exploded.


"Canova's Three Graces!"


"A can of tree braces?" Lady Trumpeter was perplexed.


"No, it's a statue. The Three Graces by Canova. I've got a picture of it here," she handed the picture to Morag.




"Marcia!" Morag's mouth dropped open, "they've got no clothes on!"


"Of course they've got no clothes on. How can we rival what Connie so vividly describes as a nudie calendar if you're wearing clothes."


"Well I for one am not going to stand in the middle of the art exhibition with no clothes on," at the word 'You're' Morag's face had changed from bewilderment to alarm.


"You won't really have no clothes on. It's not as if those stuck up prigs at The Institute were really in the all together for their stupid calendar. They just pretended to be and used potted plants and fruit cakes and things to hide their naughty bits and give the impression they had nothing on."


"There's no fruit cake in this picture," said Morag.


Marcia raised her eyes to the heavens. Didn't the girl understand anything!


"You're not going to use fruit cakes. You'll wear fleshings."


"What are fleshings?"


"They're like a pink coverall body stocking which gives the impression of nakedness from a distance while being quite respectable. Now who's going to volunteer?"


Marcia looked meaningfully at Megan. Megan Mapletoft, whose appearance could best be described as mousy, remained perpetually in awe of Marcia. Megan would do what was necessary.


"What do you think Megan?"


Megan turned red. She didn't know what she was supposed to think. She looked hopefully at Marcia hoping for some clue, but Marcia just nodded back.


There was only one thing for it.


"I agree with Marcia," she said. It was always safest to agree with Marcia.


"Excellent," said Marcia, "we have one volunteer," but of course she needed two others. Only Connie and Morag would do of course. They were the only other ones with figures sufficiently youthful and adequately proportioned to pose as the statue.


"I'll volunteer!" Lady Trumpeter's voice rang round the room, "plenty of tree braces in my garden."


"Thank you so much Honoria," said Marcia (the expression 'heaven forfend' came to mind but she quickly suppressed it), "perhaps you can assist in a support role."


"Hmph!" Lady Trumpeter did not seem too pleased with the suggestion.


"Connie, Morag?" Marcia fixed them with her gimlet eye.


"I can't see any reason why it should be me?" said Connie trying to wriggle out from under Marcia's metaphorical heel..


"No good reason! You have a pair of very good reasons."


It was Connie's turn to go red. She knew she had big bosoms, but it wasn't quite the done thing of Marcia to refer to them like that,


"Well... But...." she said flustered, "they'll be covered by these fleshings won't they?"


"What'll be covered by fleshings? The very good reasons are - and let me point them out to you - one - beating The Institute - and two - winning the prize!"


"Oh! I thought you meant..."


"Thought I meant what?"


Connie sat back deflated. She was roped in.


Marcia smiled. Only Morag to go and she'd have all three girls.


"Morag," she said.


Morag had tried looking at the floor, then at the ceiling, anything not to catch Marcia's eye; but it was no use.


"Yes Marcia."


"You like donkeys, don't you Morag? The charity money we're raising is going to save the donkeys you know."


Morag felt the icy grip of Marcia's logic closing round her. She could either be branded as an evil donkey slayer or find herself volunteered into appearing as a nude but not nude statue.


There was no choice. Donkey slayers wouldn't last long in the village.


"Yes Marcia," she said, "I love donkeys."


"Good," said Marcia, "then you'll want to volunteer in aid of the donkey sanctuary won't you?"


"Yes," said Morag.


The last volunteer was roped in.




The Dowager Lady Trumpeter was not one to be fobbed off when it came to the work of the Women's Guild. The Trumpeters had been Lords of the Manor ever since the day Richard the Lionheart had granted the land to Sir Perceval de Trompetour, right up until her dear departed Mortimer had been forced to sell the lordship to Hector Gorringe. But she was still Lady Trumpeter and though she may no longer be a force to be reckoned with she still was in some ways a force.


"And what is to be my role in all this?" she bellowed at Marcia as they came out of the meeting.


Marcia sighed. In her youth Honoria Trumpeter had been one of the great society beauties, pictured in Vogue, lionized by the great and the good; she couldn't be totally sidelined, on the other hand she couldn't really be given anything important to do. It was a tricky problem.


"Could you organise the fleshings Honoria?"


"Of course my dear. What are they?"


"The fleshings, the pink costume things Honoria; we just spent half an hour talking about them at the meeting," Marcia yelled hoping the dowager would pick up some of it.


"Just remind me again will you. And don't shout this time; I'm not deaf you know."


"It's the costumes for the Three Graces."


"Oh yes. Of course. The costumes for the three Gracies. Just leave it to me dear. Leave it to me."


Lady Trumpeter had no idea how to get those stupid costumes. Still, she could always ask Jacintha; her grand-daughter was such a clever girl. She never quite understood how Lionel, such a stupid boy, had managed to produce such an intelligent girl. But girls always were more intelligent than boys, weren't they?


"We want these costume things, for the three Gracies."


"The Three Gracies?" Jacintha looked astonished at the request, "You mean the pink things?"


"Yes, that's right, the pink things."


"Why on earth would you want those?"


"Three girls from The Guild are going to wear them to the festival."


"Oh! Well it should be no problem. I'll go on to E-bay."


"Torquay Bay did you say?"


"No! E-bay," Gran was so funny. Why would Women's from the stuffy old Guild want to wear cheerleaders costumes. The Three Gracies might be the biggest girl band of the moment dancing around dressed as cheerleaders in their pink uniforms, but they hardly seemed the thing that would be suitable for those stuffy old Guild women. Still - hers was not to reason why. She booted up her computer.


Connie felt somehow that she had been bounced into this scheme of Marcia's. Marcia was like that. Always bouncing people. Still, it was not as if she was actually going to be naked. She looked again at the picture of the Canova statue. No matter what Marcia had said, it was sexy. Three naked girls standing with their arms round each other; suddenly and very strangely she regretted the fact that she wasn't going to be really in the nude.


On an impulse she stripped completely naked and stood looking at her figure in the full length mirror. This was what people would see if she really was nude. She felt very sexy indeed.


By a curious coincidence Megan had also at the very same time stripped naked. She was trying to tell herself that it wouldn't be like really being naked, but it was no good. She was just too embarrassed at the thought. Her face had gone red just at seeing herself in the all together. What on earth would she be like if other people saw her. If it hadn't been for her pussy she would never have done it, but Tiddles had been her closest friend since being a kitten and the cats home would get half the charity money. She would do it, she decided, after all she would really be in the all together, would she!


Morag was also thinking about her kitty, but in her case it was the triangle of black curls that covered her most intimate parts that concerned her. She knew she had been tricked into volunteering by Marcia, but she wasn't going to give the woman the pleasure of knowing it. She did worry about those black curls though. She wouldn't be allowed to wear knickers under those fleshing things, that much was obvious. Surely her black triangle would show through. She rather liked those curls, but they would have to go. She picked her little razor. She tried crouching down, sticking her legs in the air, kneeling with her bottom facing the mirror. It was no good. She would have to be a contortionist to shave herself down there.


Then the solution came to her. All the girls would need assistance in this regard, wouldn't they. They could help each other. She picked up the telephone.


Jacintha had no problems finding appropriate pink cheerleader costumes on e-bay. She idly wondered which idiots that dreadful Marcia woman had browbeaten into wearing them. Not poor Megan surely. The poor girl would die of embarrassment.


Little did she know that poor Megan was indeed at that very moment dying of embarrassment. She had been mortified at the suggestion that anything would show through the fleshings, she was equally mortified at the thought of anyone shaving her in a rather delicate area. The thought of confronting Marcia and refusing to go through with the escapade was however unthinkable, so poor Megan was, at this moment flat on her back, her legs in the air, having shaving foam delicately applied to the area she never referred to as anything but 'down there'.


Poor Megan indeed; she didn't very often get tickled down there, which unfortunately led to down there being rather on the sensitive side. She was naked. She hadn't really understood why they all had to be naked, but she couldn't find the words to argue about it. So they were all naked.


The tickling stopped and she stood up; she had a strange tingling sensation between the legs and she unconsciously rubbed, feeling strangely bare all of a sudden.


"Stop enjoying yourself," chided Connie, "we've got to practice the pose."


"You mean we practice it like this! With nothing on!"


"Of course. In case you hadn't noticed, the girls in the statue haven't got anything on."


"But we'll be wearing fleshings."


"But we haven't got those yet have we?" Connie got a strange frisson from the thought of the three of them posing naked together. What a pity they couldn't do it on the day.


"Let's have a look at that picture," said Connie picking up a printout of the statue, "bags I be the one in the middle!"


The one in the middle had her arms round the shoulders of the other two girls. It was the sexiest thing that Connie had ever done, except it was all in the name of art. The girls agreed. It wasn't sexual at all. It was art. They spent a long time practising it all the same.




The art exhibition section of the fête was to be held on the village green. Marcia had quickly regretted giving Honoria Trumpeter the task of sourcing the fleshings, but repeated phone calls had reassured her that everything was in hand.


"Honoria," she asked, "where are the fleshings."


"The what?"


"You know! For the girls to wear."


Realisation dawned on Lady Trumpeter's face, "Jacintha's bringing them dear."


"Well tell her to hurry up. They have to be on in ten minutes."


It was at that moment that the girls arrived. Connie was getting excited, Morag way looking worried and Megan had a pained look on her face.


"The costumes will be here in a couple of minutes," announced Marcia, "get changed quickly and join me in the tent. Those wretched calendar women are already there," there was a wild look in her eyes, "we'll show them a thing or two, won't we girls."


"Not literally I hope Marcia, " said Connie, "Where do we get changed?"


Marcia stopped short. In all the hustle she had never thought of that.


"Oh... You'll just have to hide behind the car and get changed in the car park."




"Excellent," said Marcia, "That's agreed then," and she dashed off."


To Connie it hadn't been agreed at all. Change in the car park! What was the mad woman thinking about! Things however were just about to get an awful lot worse. Up rolled a young dark haired girl whom Connie vaguely recognised as Jackie something or other - old Trumpeter's grand-daughter.


"I've brought your costumes," chirped Jacintha. She was slim, dark, tall, with a face that could move from mischievous to strikingly beautiful in an instant.


Connie stared. Oh My God! They really were going to have to get changed in the car park. Drat the wretched woman! Connie allowed herself a drat! Profanity was definitely not allowed in the Guild, but if ever a situation warranted a 'drat' this did.


"Let's see them then," she said, "better get on with it!"


Jacintha took out the costumes. Connie looked at them flabbergasted.


"What are these?" she said.


"The Three Gracies costumes."


"But they're stupid pink cheerleader costumes."


"Yes. So."


"We were supposed to have fleshings!"




"Sort of nude but not nude costumes!"


"But the Three Gracies don't wear those. They wear these!"


"No they don't. They wear nothing at all."


"I haven't a clue what you're going on about!" Jacintha was getting totally confused, "the Three Gracies are like this girl band aren't they, and they wear like these costumes. They don't go parading around in their birthday suits."


"Girl band? We're not talking about a girl band wear talking about looking like a statue of three naked women. And you were supposed to bring the costumes."


"But you don't need special costumes to look naked. You just do it naked."


"It's all right for you to talk. You don't have to tell bloody Marcia," Connie winced at the profanity, "she'll go mad! It's for Marcia's Living Art submission in the exhibition. We have to beat the calendar women. Marcia says so!"


"What have you got to tell her. I told you. Just do it naked. I would. No probs. After all we can't let those dreadful calendar women win, can we?"


Connie was about to tell her exactly why they couldn't do it naked when Morag interjected.


Morag had listened to the exchange between Jacintha and Connie with growing frustration. Who was Connie to set herself up as their spokesperson anyway. Morag felt herself always pushed to the back, always being told what to do, first by Marcia and now by Connie. Just because she was Scottish. She wasn't having any of it any more. The honour of Scotland demanded it.


"I'm game," she said, "I'll do it naked."


Connie's words dried on her lips and her jaw dropped open. For the first time the thought that they might actually do it, might actually do it naked struck her.


The thought coursed through her body like an electric shock. Marcia had said it was nothing to do with sex. Indeed the suggestion that the Guild would even countenance a display to do with sex was unthinkable, perish the thought - it was art! But a feeling so close to sexual arousal took hold of Connie that she had to consciously tell herself it was art and not sex that put the following words in her mouth.


"Right! I'll do it naked as well. After all it is art."


Anyway those bloody calendar women had to be beaten.


It was Morag's turn for her mouth to drop. When she had made the suggestion it had been to assert her position in the certain knowledge that the others wouldn't agree. Now she had done it! She had committed herself! But then Megan would never agree. She relaxed. Megan would never agree and it wouldn't be art without three of them.


They all looked at Megan.


"I can't do it," she said. ConnIe felt a strange disappointment.


"Come on Megan! We'll all be together."


"It's not that...," although of course it was, "but I've come out in a nasty rash."


"What? Where?"


"You know."


"I know what?'


"You know... On the you know where... It was the shaving cream I think."


Jacintha looked amazed. What had the girls been doing with shaving cream!


Morag breathed a sigh of relief.




But not for long. Connie had had an idea.


"No problem," she said, "Jacintha will do it. It was her suggestion in the first place. And she wouldn't want those dreadful Calendar women to win would she?"


Hoist by her own petard! Jacintha had loved goading the prudes about doing it naked. She had actually said she would do it. There was no way of getting out of it now! Or was there.


"I know what," she said, "Let's change into these cheerleader outfits. We'll do this living art thing like that! It'll be sort of ironic."


Connie wasn't exactly clear that Marcia wanted ironic.


"Marcia wants naked," she said.


"Well Marcia'll just have to want," said Jacintha, as if that settled things, "Where do we get changed?"


"Bloody here. In the bloody car park," said Morag, heedless of the profanity.




"You heard the woman," said Connie - if Jacintha wouldn't do the statue naked then she could bloody well change in the car park. They were hidden behind the van. It wasn't as if anyone would see them! She started to take off her clothes. Somehow with all that had been going on she had lost at least some of her inhibitions.


"Keep a look out Megan," said Connie, "Give a shout if anyone appears!"


The others felt they had somehow walked into this and couldn't now back out. And after all there was nobody about. In two minutes the three girls were totally naked.


Connie picked up a sock and started hopping about on one foot to put it on. Why hadn't they got changed bit by bit! Soon all three were hopping around putting on their socks. They got an uncontrollable fit of the giggles. There they were. Out in the open wearing nothing but a pair of pink socks each.


If this hadn't been art, thought Connie, she would have thought it the sexiest thing she'd ever done.


Between giggles she managed to gasp, "Don't forget Megan," give a shout if you see anyone.


"Of course," said Megan, "Yoohoo! Yoohoo!"


"My God Megan," Connie went so far as to utter her worst profanity of the day, "what are you screaming about. You'll attract attention."


"But you said," said Megan mortified, "you said to shout if I saw anyone! There's Fiona and Charlotte from the Institute. Yoohoo! Fiona! Charlotte! They're over here!"


"Megan! You blithering idiot! When I said 'Shout' I meant warn us, not tell everyone we're here. We're starkers! Quick girls!"


She grabbed the rest of the silly uniform with it and tried to cover herself. It was no good. The laughing hordes of the Institute appeared.


The girls tried to cover themselves as best they could, but they seemed to be exposing a lot more flesh than the flimsy costumes would cover. And then Fiona had brought her camera. The one that she used for the Calendar shots. And she took that picture. The one they used for July. The one that went all over the world. It was just so funny! And the girls had managed to get their hands over their [rude word deleted]s so that was all right.





Marcia looked at her exhibit with pride. Three beautiful girls standing in the pose of the

Canova statue. The middle girl with her arms draped over the shoulders of the others. A beatific smile on her face.


Those fleshings are realistic she thought. This was true art. But why were they wearing pink socks? It was some time before it dawned on her that they were otherwise completely nude.


And it made a great picture for August.


Submitted: July 21, 2021

© Copyright 2022 Joex. All rights reserved.

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fabulous concept and delightfully well presented.

Wed, July 21st, 2021 9:21am

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